


Close My Eyes and Feel The Crash

by starrywrite



Series: Super Rich Kids™ fic [1]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Car Sex, Drinking, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Smoking, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6842239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrywrite/pseuds/starrywrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of being told what to do and how to act and what to wear and who to be friends with, after years of not being able to be themselves in their own homes, after years of being made to believe that money and power and status were more important than their feelings, Scott and Mitch finally decided that enough was enough.</p><p>Now they’re going to have a bit of fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close My Eyes and Feel The Crash

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by halsey's music video for "colors"
> 
> i have been working on this fic for SO SO SO LONG AND I AM SO EXCITED FOR EVERYONE TO READ IT OKAY WITHOUT FURTHER ADO HERE IS SUPER RICH KIDS ENJOY <3

Mitch’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth as he concentrates on his sketchbook, the granite of his pencil staining the side of his hand completely but it’s worth it because his new dress sketch is positively stunning. He can’t help but smile a little; it’s always nice when one of his visions comes to life. Or at least when he can put it on paper. 

He jumps, startled, when he suddenly feels something cover his shoulder and he looks up to see Scott standing before him. “Hey, you,” the blond says with a smile. His Letterman jacket lays on Mitch’s shoulders, as it does more often than it lays on Scott’s.

“Is it time to leave?” Mitch asks him, closing his sketchbook. “I’m starving.”

“Tell me about it, so am I,” Scott says, fishing into his pocket for his car keys. He jingles them before Mitch’s head, as if he were a cat, and he says, “Come on, your highness, your chariot awaits.”

“Ha, ha,” Mitch says dryly. He stuffs his sketchbook into his backpack and he follows Scott off of the bleachers and towards the parking lot, where Mr. Hoying’s jaguar (unbeknownst to Mr. Hoying) is waiting. “So,” Mitch says as Scott opens his door for him and he gets inside the car. “Where can we go so we don’t have to go home yet?”

“We can grab dinner,” Scott says. “Or at least go to Taco Bell. I’ve been thinking about chalupas all day.”

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Of course you have been,” he teases. “Alright, Taco Bell it is.”

“If I pay, can we go to your house instead?” Scott asks, backing out of his spot and then driving out of the school parking lot. He runs over an orange cone in the process, probably part of the reason why his dad never lets him drive his jag. And why Scott always drives it anyway. 

“Do we have to?” Mitch groans. “Mike it working on a new case, so he’s had his panties in a twist for days. And Nel is redecorating, so the house reeks of paint and Ikea,” he explains, referring to his parents. “I’d rather watch your football practice for another three hours than go home.” 

“Well I don’t want to go back to my house,” Scott tells him. “Dad’s going to lose his shit when he finds out I took the jag without asking - again. And the fucking Kaplans are coming over so my mom’s probably all bent out of shape trying to make the house look immaculate. And the _last_ thing I need is four obnoxious snobs asking me about football scholarships and university and,” he stops himself, groaning in disgust at just the idea of that happening. Mitch can sympathize; his parents are the exact same way, hounding him about what ivy league he’ll be applying to just so _they_ can have something to brag about. It’s disgusting and frustrating, especially since Mitch has to hoard and hide college applications for fashion and design schools in places where his parents will never find them. 

“Won’t Avi and Esther be there?” Mitch asks, referring to the Kaplan’s two children, who are - thankfully - nothing at all like their parents. 

“Not if they’re smart,” Scott sighs. 

“Alright, alright, fine,” Mitch says. “So where are we going to go then? We can’t just hide out at Taco Bell for five hours.” 

“Not if we order five hours’ worth of chalupas,” Scott points out, and Mitch just rolls his eyes, not even dignifying that with a response. 

“We should just keep on driving until we run out of gas,” Mitch says, wistfully. He stares out the passenger’s window, watching the scenery of Beverly Hills blur past him and he can’t help but to wish for a different view sometimes. A different view, of a different place, but with no one else other than Scott by his side. 

“With the combined money on both of our credit cards, I don’t think we’d run out of gas anytime soon,” Scott replies. 

“Then we’d just have to keep on driving,” Mitch says with a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “We could go to Vegas, or Portland, or up to Canada.” Scott doesn’t point out how they’d need passports in order for that to actually happen, and Mitch silently thanks him for that. “Just you and I, as far away from this city as we can get.”

“And as far away from our parents we can get,” Scott adds, then sighs a little. “That sounds like a dream doesn’t it.” 

“A pipe dream,” Mitch mumbles sadly, and Scott reaches over to pat his knee, soothingly. Mitch glances at him and Scott says, “I’ll get you out of here, baby. I promise.”

And Mitch just smiles because Scott Hoying never breaks a promise. 

* * *

The don’t go to Vegas or Portland or Canada, but they do go to Taco Bell and then Mitch convinces Scott to chauffeur him to the mall so he can look at clothes. Scott doesn’t understand why he wants to look at clothes in the shops anyway - “you literally buy everything online, or steal it out of your mother’s closet” -- but he knows that Mitch is just trying to prolong going home for a little while longer. Not that he can blame him. 

There’s a reason the Hoyings and the Grassis are best friends; they’re exactly alike. They’re the type of rich people who believe that money could buy anything - including happiness, and especially their son’s happiness. Both parents are guilty of giving and getting Mitch and Scott pretty much whatever they’d ask for to make up for the fact that they’re pretty shit parents. They constantly put pressure on the two of them to do what _they_ want - where to go to school, what careers to have, who to date, you name it and their parents have tried to control it. Scott’s dad is the reason that Scott has been playing football for as long as he can remember, and Mitch’s mom is the reason that Mitch was grade two piano before he reached middle school. Neither of their parents let him quit these “passions” that they aren’t even fond of.

Scott and Mitch have such limited freedom in their lives, they’ve had to keep parts of themselves and their lives a secret, in fear of judgment or rejection from their parents. And they’ve hardly been given the chance to be their true selves; they’ve been so stifled and confined for years. As a result, the two have grown resentful of their parents. Angry, mistrusting, rebellious. It’s their way at getting back at them for everything they’ve done for them.

The two of them have also become closer than ever as well. They’ve been best friends for years but as they’ve gotten older, the two have created a bond unlike any other. They are the only two people in the world who truly understand what the other is going through. Mitch is the only person that Scott trusts and the only person who lets him be who he really is, and vice versa. Scott loves Mitch more than anything, and Mitch loves Scott more than anything. Nothing, not even their parents, could tear them apart. 

After dropping Mitch off, Scott arrives him to his mom on the phone, talking to caterers and he bites his lip to suppress a groan. Caterers means people are coming over, and people coming over usually means the Hoyings are hosting a party. Scott absolutely _loathes_ his parents’ parties. He immediately begins thinking up excuses to get himself out of the event, but as soon as his mom notices he’s home, she smiles a wide, Crest toothpaste worthy smile and says, “Scotty! I’ve laid out an outfit for you to wear tomorrow night -”

“Mom,” Scott sighs. “Do I have to -”

“Yes,” his mother says before Scott can even get a word in edgewise, and Scott bites his lip to keep from swearing. “Sweetheart, what did I say about frowning,” she tuts, reaching out to pat his cheek. 

“I’m seventeen, mom, I think wrinkles are the last thing I need to be worrying about,” he tells her, then heads towards the kitchen. “Are the Grassis coming tomorrow?” he asks her. 

“They’ll be here, yes,” his mom replies and Scott whispers, “Thank god,” under his breath. There’s no way he’d make it through the entire evening without Mitch. 

* * *

The Hoying’s house is overcrowded with overpriced suits and dresses, and the glasses of wine aren’t big enough for Mitch’s liking. He sneaks a glass when no one is looking; he can’t pronounce the name of it but it tastes expensive and bitter. Just like him. 

He reaches into his jacket pocket for his phone, checking the time even though he’s only been at the Hoying’s house for less than five minutes. He sighs, then unlocks his phone so he can text Scott - _I’m here, daddy_ \- hoping the blond will save him from this misery. He hates parties at the Hoying’s house and he hates even more that his parents force him to go. It isn’t that he doesn’t like Hoyings (he loves Scott; Mr. and Mrs. Hoying are alright from time to time) but their parties always consist of far too many of the kind of stuck up rich people Mitch constantly prays he won’t turn out to be like. 

Several minutes pass, and Scott still hasn’t texted Mitch back, and three people have already asked him what universities he’s applied to, and his parents have already answered for him three times. Mitch continues to drink so he doesn’t have to break the news that he and Scott set fire to their college applications in the woods.

As soon as he can escape unnoticed, Mitch makes a beeline upstairs. The shitty music the Hoyings have been playing finally begins to soften, and Mitch finally doesn’t feel like he’s being smothered for the first time all evening. God, he really hates these parties. 

Mitch lets himself inside of Scott’s bedroom, a cool breeze greeting him as he walks inside. He finds the blond perched out on his balcony, a cigarette in one hand and a glass of something in the other. “Found you,” Mitch says softly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he walks towards him. Instantly, he feels himself starting to relax; Scott has always had that effect on him. 

Scott looks over his shoulder and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Wordlessly, he offers Mitch his cigarette and Mitch accepts, joining him out on the balcony. “I’m sorry,” Scott finally says, breaking the silence between them. “About tonight.”

Mitch looks at him, confused. “What are you apologizing for?” he asks, pausing to take a long drag from his cigarette and contentedly sighing before saying, “It’s not like you’re the one hosting the party.”

“Yeah, but _my_ parents are,” Scott insists. “That’s just as bad.” 

Mitch shakes his head. “Scotty, you are not as bad as your parents are,” he tells him and Scott looks over at him, the look on his face saying that that was exactly what he needed to hear tonight. “You never will be,” Mitch adds, not just for good measure but because he believes it and he wants so badly for Scott to believe this as well. Scott is beautiful and compassionate and loving. He is absolutely nothing like the Hoyings, who are selfish and greedy and arrogant and care more about what ivy league school their son is going to go to and what botoxed bimbo he’s going to marry than the fact that he got the lead in the school musical. 

“Congrats, by the way,” Mitch tells him and when Scott looks at him, confused, he adds, “I saw the cast listing posted earlier today.” 

Scott just shrugs, but he’s having a hard time fighting the smile that’s making its way across his face. He’s so proud of himself, and he should be. Mitch is so proud of him too. “I honestly thought you would get a much better role than me,” Scott admits. 

“I’m glad I didn’t,” Mitch tells him. “You deserved this more than anyone.”

“Shut up,” Scott whispers, embarrassed. In the moonlight, Mitch can see his cheeks have flushed bright red and his hands shake as he fumbles for another cigarette. 

“Does mommy know that her golden boy has started smoking?” Mitch asks, teasingly. 

Scott glances over at him, looking him up and down before smirking and asking, “Does your mommy know _you’re_ wearing her overpriced dress?” 

“Damn right she does,” Mitch says, spinning around a little for Scott to show off the garment. “And she’s pissed that I look better in it that she ever would.” 

“You got that right,” Scott tells him and Mitch giggles. “So, who made that overpriced slab of fabric?” he asks, even though Mitch knows he doesn’t give a damn. But he always makes sure to ask Mitch who he’s wearing and Mitch loves it - he loves fashion and big name brands and avantgarde designers. There’s nothing he loves more than talking about clothes, especially his own. Maybe that’s why Scott always asks him. 

“Saint Laurent,” Mitch replies with an exaggerated French accent, and Scott mimics him, accent and all, and the two of them erupt in a fit of giggles. Mitch unzips his leather jacket - also Saint Laurent - and tosses it back inside, making sure it lands safely on Scott’s bed, before he spins around in his evening gown once more. The satin fabric, the asymmetrical sleeves, the spaghetti straps - it all makes him feel so beautiful.

And the way Scott’s staring at him, that makes him feel beautiful as well. 

“How much did she cost?” Scott asks, reaching out to feel one of the sleeves of his dress. Mitch slaps his hand away. 

“Nearly six grand,” Mitch replies, and he sounds proud about it.

Scott grimaces. “Gross,” he grumbles. Mitch rolls his eyes and Scott adds, “With six grand, you and I could run away from his hell hole and never look back.”

Mitch glances at Scott. For as long as he can remember, the two of them had talked about running away - more so Scott than Mitch because Scott’s parents just know how to get under his skin. Clearly, something had happened tonight; Mitch knew before Scott even said a word, the way his body was riddled with tension, the way his glass was still full because Scott could never drink when he was upset (Mitch had the opposite problem).

“Yeah?” Mitch asks, because he doesn’t want to make Scott talk until he’s ready. “Where do you want to go?” 

“Anywhere,” Scott says. “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we are.” 

Mitch’s breathing hitches, just slightly, and he exhales, “I love you, Scotty.” he reaches for the blond’s hand and Scott’s resolve crumbles, he turns towards Mitch, bending down to press his forehead against his. Mitch discards his cigarette, making sure to stomp out the ashes before he reaches up to cup Scott’s face in his hands. “You and I, we’re in this together,” he whispers to him. Scott looks near tears, his body shaking slightly. “Us against the world. No one else matters except for you and I.”

“God, I hate them Mitch,” Scott whispers, his voice getting caught in his throat for a moment. “I can’t - I can’t fucking _breathe_ in this house.”

“I know,” Mitch says, shushing him softly. “I know, baby, it’s okay.” 

“It’s so much easier to breathe when I’m with you,” Scott tells him.

“I’m here, Scotty,” Mitch whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Scott nods, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a second to compose himself. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, and Mitch gently runs his fingers along the barely there stubble along his jaw. His parent’s must’ve made him shave for tonight. Scott always hated shaving, said he liked the way he looked with facial hair. His parents thought it made him look like a ruffian and Scott and Mitch still laugh about that because who the hell, in 2016, uses the word _ruffian_?

Mitch hugs Scott until he calms down and then they pull away, the blond leaning against the railing of the balcony and staring off at the stars. The moon is big and bright and full in the sky, and it shines down on Scott’s face like a spotlight. And he looks so beautiful. Not for the first time, Mitch wonders just how the universe came up with him.

“They asked me about prom,” Scott breaks the silence a few minutes later, his voice soft but rough around the edges. He sounds tired, as if he’s told this story a dozen times already. “I told them I wasn’t even thinking about prom, because it’s so far away but…” he hesitates, closing his eyes, as if he’s ashamed for what he’s about to say. Mitch wants to strangle the Hoyings for making Scott feel this way. “I mentioned a guy - Alex. He does tech stuff in the play and we have a couple of classes together. He’s really - god, he’s so fucking gorgeous, and so smart, and so nice and funny. I don’t even know why I said it, but before I could talk myself out of it, I said if I was going to take anyone to prom, it was going to be either you or Alex.

“My mom’s face went as white as a sheet, and my dad kept trying to convince me to ask Kirstin - ‘the Maldonados have been our friends for years, you and Kirstin get along so well, she’s such a beautiful and smart young lady’ - I told him Kirstin has a boyfriend, for the past fucking year, I don’t know how he could’ve forgotten. Then his face gets all red, like a fucking cherry tomato, he says ‘well, what about the Kelly’s daughter, Victoria?’ And before I can even get a word in edgewise, my mother,” the way Scott says _mother_ , with venom dripping from his lips, makes Mitch shiver. “Says, ‘no self-respecting son of mine will be going to prom with a boy.’ As if that’s the end of the fucking discussion.”

Scott shakes his head, laughing bitterly. “God, she just - the way she said it, as if that was _it_ , as if my thoughts and feelings didn’t even fucking matter to her. Of course we get into it, and my dad - good ol’ dad - plays referee but you know he just doesn’t give enough fucks to get involved directly; he’s fucking Switzerland and he’ll say whatever he has to to get us to calm down. My mom ends up storming off like the fucking bitch that she is, and dad says ‘don’t worry, she’ll cool down by the party tonight and all of this will be forgotten’ - _all of this_ , as if I brought home a failing report card or totaled the car. I just -” Scott’s voice gets caught in his throat and he balls his hands up into fists. “I just wanted to take a boy to prom. I’m not asking for their blessing, all I wanted…”

He stops himself, shaking his head again and Mitch reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder. “I was still fired up by this point,” Scott continues. “I told him she can forget her party because I’m not going, and dad says ‘after everything you put your mother through this morning, the least you can do is go to her party.’ He says, ‘it’ll make her happy, Scotty,’ as if I actually care about making _her_ happy.” 

“God, fuck them both honestly,” Mitch whispers, as if he can’t believe what Scott had just told him. He shouldn’t be surprised but he still can’t believe that the Hoyings care _that_ little about their son’s happiness. And then they expect _him_ to care more about _their_ happiness than his own. “Fuck them,” he repeats, because he can’t think of anything else to say. He’s just so angry - Scott doesn’t deserve this.

Scott just shrugs a little. “It’s nothing new,” he says softly. “You know that.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Mitch insists. “God, they just - fuck them!” he groans, annoyed that he can’t think of anything of substance to say right now, and Scott manages a small smile. It takes Mitch a moment to calm down and collect his thoughts, and when he does he says, “We weren’t put on this earth to please our parents.”

“They seem to think differently,” Scott replies with a sigh. 

“Who cares what they think?” Mitch asks.

Scott shrugs again. “We do,” he says simply. “Clearly we do, otherwise we wouldn’t be bending over backwards to please them all the time. Because you can’t even deny that we do, we always give in.”

“Well, I’m sick of it,” Mitch says. “I’m so sick of doing what they want us to do. I’m so sick of trying to make mommy happy. It’s not my fucking job to make mommy happy.” 

“I’m sure it made mommy super happy when you showed her up in her own dress,” Scott says, and then he adds, “You really do look beautiful tonight.”

“Thanks,” Mitch smiles a little. “And you’re right, she was _thrilled_ to see her son in her dress. Just like I’m sure your mommy is _thrilled_ about you being missing in action during her lovely little party.” Scott just smirks in response, reaching for another cigarette. Mitch puts his hand on top of his, stopping him, and the two lock eyes. And for a moment, Mitch finds himself lost in a sea of blue, the hundreds of thousands of thoughts swimming around in his head silencing for a moment, and before he can stop himself he whispers, “You know what would make mommy really happy? If she caught you in bed with a pretty boy in a pretty dress.” 

Scott’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again but he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, Mitch regrets saying anything at all, his face flushed with embarrassment, but Scott whispers, “I think that would make mommy’s night.” 

“E -” Mitch stutters, trying to catch his breath because he feels like he can’t breathe. “Especially if he was screaming your name,” he’s finally able to whisper.

“Jesus Christ, Mitch,” Scott swears, his face redder than Mitch has ever seen it before. “Are you serious?” he asks. 

Mitch hesitates. _Is_ he serious? He isn’t sure what came over him when he blurted that out, but now that he’s said it, he doesn’t want to take it back. He wants this. He wants Scott.

“Yes,” he whispers. He takes Scott’s hands and places them on his hips, and he looks up at him whispering, “Let’s fucking ruin mommy’s party.”

It takes a moment, but Scott’s lips curl into a smirk and he whispers, “I like the way you think, Grassi.” 

Mitch just stares at Scott for a moment, wide eyed and lips parted with words he can’t yet say - with words he doesn’t know how to say. And in an instant, Scott’s lips are on his and he feels like he’s floating away. Thankfully, Scott grabs his hips and keeps him grounded. 

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what it’d be like to kiss Scott, if that thought hadn’t crossed his mind once or twice or several times over the years. But even his most wildest fantasies couldn’t compare to the real thing, to actually kissing Scott. The feel of his scruff brushing against his face, his lips soft and wet and pressing against Mitch’s. He’s so gentle, so sweet. Mitch can hear him sigh against his mouth and it makes him shiver, and Scott squeezes his hips, tightly but not too tightly. “Scott,” he whispers breathlessly when they part. Both of their chests are heaving, their faces flushed. Scott’s blue eyes are dark and wide, and Mitch can feel the slight tremble in his hands as he holds onto his waist. 

“Is this,” Scott asks. “Are we -” he can’t finish a coherent thought and Mitch feels the same way right now. His mind is buzzing and he can’t think straight, he couldn’t even tell Scott his name if he asked him right now. He exhales shakily and nods his head, at a complete loss for words, and Scott whispers, “What do we…” another sentence he can’t finish, but Mitch knows what he means. 

“Let’s go slow,” Mitch whispers. This isn’t his first time, at least it isn’t his fire time with a guy, but he doesn’t know what - or who - Scott has done and he doesn’t want to assume anything. He also wants Scott to be okay with this, he wants Scott to want to do this. 

He wants Scott to want _him_. 

“Slow is good,” Scott says with a nod, his voice still hushed, a little bit breathless. Mitch can hear the nervous edge to his voice, but at the same time, he sounds excited. It makes Mitch’s heart start to beat a little bit faster.

“Good,” Mitch echoes him, still a bit at a loss for words and he takes a moment to compose himself because at least one of them needs to have their shit together right now, and since this was all Mitch’s idea, he assumes it should be him. He runs his hands over the front of Scott’s shirt and he says, “I think we’ll both be a little more comfortable inside, don’t you think? Maybe even on your bed?” 

“Okay,” Scott lets Mitch lead him inside, the taller boy something akin to a lost puppy at the moment and Mitch has to admit, it’s endearing. Even though he lives for dominance, he can’t help but to love how sweet and slightly submissive Scott is right now. Mitch sits down on Scott’s bed and when he notices Scott just standing there before him, the slightest bit dumbfounded, he pats the space next to him and softly says, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Honestly, if we spent the rest of the night making out, I’d be happy. But we don’t even have to do that if you don’t want to.”

“No - no, I want to,” Scott stutters and he sits down next to Mitch. “I want to,” he repeats. “I’ve just… I’ve never,” Scott trails off again, his cheeks reddening just a bit and he softly says. “I’ve never _been_ with a boy before. I - I’ve been curious, don’t get me wrong, and I’ve seen a lot of porn,” his faces gets even more red when he realizes what he just blurted out and Mitch giggles a little. “I’ve just never - there’s never been anyone I’ve been comfortable enough to do anything with.”

“Are you comfortable with me?” Mitch asks softly. He reaches for Scott’s hand, albeit a tad hesitantly, and he gives him a reassuring squeeze. 

Scott smiles shyly at him. “To be honest,” he admits. “You’re the only person I can think of doing anything like this with.” Scott’s face is redder than Mitch has ever seen it and it takes all of his strength to stay rooted in his seat and not climb into his lap and kiss him. 

He does, however, press a sweet kiss to Scott’s tomato red cheek and he whispers against his skin, “Do you want me, Scotty? Because I want you.” 

“God, Mitch,” Scott breathes. His eyes are dark and wide, and Mitch squeezes his hand again but this time, he’s the one who needs reassurance. Scott turns his head towards him, their noses brushing, and he whispers, “I want you.”

His words go straight to Mitch’s dick and the brunette groans quietly, pressing forward and kissing Scott hard and needy. He scoots closer to him, pausing only to sit himself on his knees so he’s got a little bit more height to him. Scott’s hands are all over him, as if he doesn’t know where to touch him; he goes from cupping his face in both hands to grabbing his hips to squeezing his waist. Each touch makes Mitch whimper and he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone as badly as he wants Scott right now. 

Scott’s hands finally settle on Mitch’s hips and he all but pulls him into his lap, Mitch gasping softly as it happens but he quickly straddles Scott’s waist and kisses him hard before the blond can even think to apologize. The last thing Mitch wants is for Scott to think he doesn’t want any of this, because he wants all of it. He wants all of Scott. 

He can feel Scott’s hands on his back, pushing Mitch’s hips against his own, and Scott groans against his mouth when they press against each other. Mitch can feel how hard Scott is and as much as he wants to get his hands or his mouth on Scott, he really wants the blond to mess up those pretty pants his mom made him wear tonight. He shivers at the thought and he ruts against Scott harder. 

“C - can I -?” Scott starts to ask, his voice getting lost in a strangled moan. 

Mitch wants to say “yes” to whatever it is Scott wants to do to him, but he manages to control himself and instead he asks, “Can you what, baby?” 

“Your neck,” Scott gasps, squeezing Mitch’s waist again, pulling him down against Scott’s. “Can I kiss your neck?” 

“ _Please_ ,” Mitch moans, his eyes practically rolling back. He leans his head back, as if that wasn’t invitation enough, and Scott immediately gets his mouth on him. He sucks a kiss against Mitch’s sensitive skin, and bites him a little and Mitch groans, “Jesus _Christ_ , Scotty.” He imagines a big, purple hickey forming as Scott continues to suck and kiss and bite his neck, and Mitch damn near convulses at the thought of everyone seeing that he belongs to Scott. 

“Scott,” he moans, because he feels dangerously close to tipping over the edge and they’ve barely even done anything. He tries to warn him, tries to tell him to stop or at least slow down, but Scott moans against his neck and continues to rock their hips together and before he knows it, Mitch is coming all over the front of his mother’s dress. 

He cries out Scott’s name as he comes, his entire body tensing up and he clings to Scott’s shoulders. He hears Scott whimpering, still leaving a trail of kisses along his collarbones, and Mitch is panting. He shouldn’t be surprised - he’s seventeen, for goodness’ sake, of course some heavy petting with Scott was enough to get it off. But still, he wanted to hold out at least a little while longer because for all he knows, tonight could be a once in a lifetime thing and he wants to savor every second of it. 

When he starts to come down from his high, he hears Scott whimpering, the blond still hard and aching in his fancy dress pants, and Mitch thinks to himself, _two can play at this game_. 

He unbuttons Scott’s pants, groaning softly when he catches sight of his briefs, and he snakes his hand inside. Scott’s hips buck up the second Mitch wraps his fingers around him, a strangled moan escaping his lips, and Mitch kisses him, gently shushing him. He doesn’t waste any time, especially when he hears Scott’s soft, desperate begging - _“please, Mitchy, please”_ \- and he jerks him off, a little sloppily since Scott’s pants are still up and he’s confined by the fabric. But he makes due and Scott doesn’t seem to have any complaints. The blond is loud and unabashed, crying out Mitch’s name just like he said he would, and it doesn’t take long for him to come all over Mitch’s hand. 

Scott is groaning and gasping against Mitch’s mouth, and he tightens his thighs around his hand as he tries to catch his breath. Mitch whimpers softly; he can’t help it, Scott is just so damn hot. He presses another long, hard kiss to his mouth and he slowly pulls his soiled hand out of Scott’s pants. Scott frantically looks around for something to clean himself up with, his face growing redder and redder as time passes, but Mitch just presses a reassuring kiss to his forehead and wipes his hand on his dress. He has to take it off now anyway. 

“How was that?” he asks softly, biting his lip a little.

“That was,” Scott breathes. “ _Wow_.”

Mitch giggles a little. “You were pretty _wow_ yourself, Scotty.” 

They sit in silence for a moment, Scott’s chest heaving and Mitch’s dress feeling unnaturally sticky and cold against his skin. He’s about to open his mouth and ask Scott if he could borrow something to change into, when Scott blurts out, “So what does this mean? Like, what _are_ we now?” he cringes as he asks that, and Mitch smiles a little. 

He reaches out, taking Scott’s hand, and he softly says, “We’re Scott and Mitch. We’ll always be Scott and Mitch.” Scott smiles, and he says no more because that is just enough for him. 

* * *

They don’t talk about it, even though they probably should because it happens again only a few days later. 

It’s the middle of the night, and Scott and Mitch are drunk off of some wine neither of them can pronounce that they snuck from Mr. Hoying’s liquor cabinet. They’re both sad and angry and they can’t go all but five minutes without ranting about how they hate their parents and hate their lives. It’s been a long day and a rough night, and all they want is the comfort that the other brings. 

Which is why Mitch finds himself crawling into Scott’s lap, just wanting to be held for a moment. Then Scott starts kissing his neck, innocently at first, just a sweet little peck or two. But then he keeps going, and it makes Mitch shiver and exhale hard through his nose. Scott moans a little against his skin, his nails gently digging into the brunet’s hips. It’s feels nice, having Scott touch him like that. 

Mitch turns around after a while, straddling Scott’s waist, and he kisses him properly. The blond groans quietly, gripping Mitch’s hips tighter, and before either of them know it, they’re making out. It happens just like that - in an instant, and neither of them really know just how it had gotten started but neither of them want it to end. Scott’s hands are all over Mitch’s back and his hips and his ass, grabbing him and holding him close and tight. Mitch whimpers Scott’s name against his lips, rocking their hips together, and Scott squeezes him so tight, Mitch can feel bruises forming on his skin - and he fucking _loves_ it. 

“God,” Scott gasps, face flushed and lips swollen. Breathlessly, he pulls away for a second and he asks, “What are we doing, Mitch?”

“I don’t know,” Mitch admits. He’s shaking a little, holding onto Scott a little too tight. “But please,” he whispers, reaching up to cup his face in his hands. He runs his fingers through Scott’s hair, brushes his thumbs against his stubble, anything just to _feel_ him. “Please, don’t stop.” 

And, thankfully, he doesn’t. 

* * * 

They don’t have the conversation they need to have for another week. 

They’re driving home after another one of Scott’s football practices; their unfinished homework in the backseat, and Scott’s hand on Mitch’s thigh. Mitch doesn’t flinch when Scott reaches out for him, his hand splayed out across the denim of Mitch’s jeans, but he glances over at him almost immediately. Scott blushes, biting his lip, and he retracts his hand. “It’s okay,” Mitch whispers as soon as he starts to pull away, and Scott’s hand goes back to where it was a moment ago. 

Neither of them say anything until Scott stops the jag at a red light, and he turns towards Mitch and asks, “What _are_ we, Mitch?”

Mitch shrugs. “We’re Scott and Mitch,” he says softly, hoping to avoid the question at hand. 

“Well, of course we are,” Scott rolls his eyes. “But - damn it, Mitch. You know what I’m asking.”

Mitch closes his eyes, sighing softly, and when he opens his eyes, Scott has started driving again. It’s easier to answer when Scott isn’t looking at him. “Maybe,” he starts, still speaking softly. “Maybe we should just… God, there’s no way to say this without sounding like a fuck boy.”

“Just say it,” Scott tells him. 

“I don’t think we should date,” Mitch finally blurts out. He looks down at his lap, his eyes focused on Scott’s hand on his thigh and he tries not to feel like a horrible person as he says, “I - I love you, Scott, more than anything and anyone. But I don’t think - maybe it would be best if - if we want to continue doing _this_ , then maybe it should be kept strictly... Physical.” He winces at his words, knowing exactly how shitty he sounds.

Scott exhales slowly and Mitch braces himself for his reply. “Thank god you said it,” he says softly and Mitch’s head snaps up so fast, he nearly gives himself whiplash. 

“You - wait, _what_?” He stutters, because he can’t believe that he and Scott are actually on the same page. Well, in all honesty, he can believe it because this is him and Scott, and the two of them are essentially the same person. But still. 

“I mean,” Scott starts slowly, his cheeks flushing red just slightly. “I - um, well. You know I love you, Mitchy. And you’re my best friend, you always will be. And I just don’t want things to get _weird_ between the two of us because of this, but I,” he lowers his voice a little, his cheeks even rosier than they were a moment ago. “I really don’t want to stop this.”

Scott’s face is damn near purple, and Mitch can’t blame him because he’s sure he looks exactly the same as he whispers, “I don’t want to stop this either.” He smiles shyly at Scott, and the blond smiles back at him, and Mitch can feel all of the previous anxiety in his chest just melting away and it’s replaced with butterflies in his stomach. He can’t help it; after all, forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest. 

* * *

Everything has changed, but at the same time, nothing has changed at all. 

Scott would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about kissing Mitch before - of course he has; when Scott first started realizing he was attracted to boys it was because he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Mitch. He’s beautiful and sweet and _everything_. But thinking about kissing him and actually kissing him are two different things entirely, and Scott had never intended on letting those lines cross or even blur. 

Until that night, of course. 

And now… now, Scott isn’t exactly sure what to think. Because they aren’t boyfriends; they don’t hold hands or cuddle. And they’re still best friends; they still drink together and smoke together and sneak out onto rooftops together. But now they make each other come. So, not much has changed but _so much_ has changed, and Scott doesn’t know what to think about it or how to feel about it. But as long as he has Mitch, he knows he’ll be fine. He knows _they’ll_ be fine. 

A benefit of them taking their relationship to this new level is that they’re starting to learn things about each other that they hadn’t known before. Like Mitch learns that Scott’s neck is sensitive and he secretly likes being dominated and he’s quite the fan of dirty talk. One thing Scott learns about Mitch is that he thrives on attention. He claims to be something akin to an exhibitionist, and once Scott learned what that word meant he couldn’t have agreed more. Scott got to learn this on a day when he and Mitch were fooling around in Mitch’s kitchen, the two of them propped up on his counter because one of his maids had just waxed the floor. 

“How does this always happen to us?” Scott asks him. He turned to look at Mitch and a smile tugs at his lips. “And why do you always wind up not wearing pants?”’

Mitch giggles. “It’s hot in here!” he insists, his bare legs swinging back and forth over the edge of the counter. Scott stares at them; they’re so slim and long and smooth. But his oversized sweater makes him look so small, especially when he brings his legs up to chest chest and wraps his arms around them. And Scott just can’t take his eyes off of him.

“What are you staring at?” Mitch asks, and he has the nerve to sound so sweet and innocent but Scott can see the gleam in his eyes letting him know that Mitch knows _exactly_ what Scott is staring at.

“You,” Scott says matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah?” Mitch asks, and he turns his body towards Scott, bringing his legs up on the counter and laying them on either side of Scott. 

“Yeah,” the blond replies, his voice soft. He isn’t as confident as Mitch; he isn’t outspoken like he is but he definitely is good with his mouth in other ways. 

He kisses Mitch, hard enough to make a soft whimper escape his lips, and he kisses him long and hard, then pulls away to make him whimper again. “Scotty,” he whines, breathless, when Scott continues to kiss him then pull away. Mitch shivers all over and clings to Scott, scooting closer to him and bringing his legs up, pressing his knees against Scott’s sides.

“Shh,” Scott whispers, kissing him again and pulling him into his lip. Mitch wastes no time straddling his waist and grabbing at his hair, running his fingers through the messy blond locks and pulling on them gently when Scott bites his bottom lip. He lets out a high pitched whine when Scott sucks on his lip, shivering again, and Scott shushes him once more. 

“God, Scotty,” Mitch gasps. He rocks his hips against Scott’s, already hard and needy, and Scott squeezes his little hips, making him whine again.

“You gotta be quiet, baby,” Scott whispers, kissing his neck and nipping at his earlobe. “Do you wanna get caught?”

Mitch damn near moans when Scott says that, trying to cover it up by kissing him, but Scott can feel the way his legs tighten around his waist and the way Mitch presses down against him, rocking his hips forward once more. “Oh my god, you _do_ want to get caught,” Scott whispers in disbelief 

Mitch’s face is bright and crimson, but instead of confirming or denying, he just asks Scott, “Do you have any idea how absolutely furious our parents would be if they found out my maids caught us fucking on the kitchen counter?”

And Scott learned something about himself as well; he loves the idea of pissing off his parents. 

* * *

Scott and Mitch were generally well behaved children growing up, mostly because they both knew their parents had “images” to uphold and they didn’t want to be a disappointment to them - and because they were both too afraid of their parents shipping them off to boarding school in England if they fucked up too badly. So they both skipped out on the teenage rebellion phase; neither of them dyed their hair, or got tattoos and piercings without permission, they didn’t even miss curfew. In a way, it was like they didn’t truly have a childhood because they were always too afraid to do what they wanted and forced to do things they didn’t want to do. 

But after years of being told what to do and how to act and what to wear and who to be friends with, after years of not being able to be themselves in their own homes, after years of being made to believe that money and power and status were more important than their feelings, Scott and Mitch finally decided that enough was enough.

Now they’re going to have a bit of fun. 

And what’s more fun than purple hair dye?

Mitch’s heart nearly stops when he looks in the mirror above his skin in his bathroom and he sees his dark brown hair now platinum blond. “Oh my god,” he whispers, completely in awe of himself. 

“You’re going to look amazing, baby,” Scott tells him, toweling off his hair from behind him. Mitch had called Scott earlier that morning, telling him that he wanted to dye his hair purple and he needed his help. And it wasn’t hard for Scott to put two and two together and realize that Mitch’s sudden desires to dye his hair had everything to do with the fight he had with his parents the night before - but Scott didn’t mention it. Instead, he just went over to Mitch’s house and asked him about a dozen times, “Are you sure about this? Are you sure?” before he started the process of dying Mitch’s hair. 

They’re halfway through the process and Mitch’s hair is blond now, one step closer to being purple. The bathroom reeks of bleach, even with the door open, and it smells awful but neither of them bat an eye.

“You’re going to look like a little pixie,” Scott continues, giving him little kisses on the back of his neck. Mitch giggles, and Scott can see the tips of his ears turning red. “Okay, are you ready, little pixie?” Scott asks him, grabbing the tube of purple dye. 

Mitch just nods, and Scott beings coating his blond hair with purple. It doesn’t look like anything at first, just dark and wet, but Mitch is trembling with excitement - like a chihuahua - and Scott makes some joke about him peeing himself. 

“That’s kinky,” Mitch teases him, and Scott snorts, although his face goes bright red. 

“You’re kinky,” he replies, knowing very well that it’s a shitty comeback, and then he adds, “I think this purple is really going to look good.” 

“You think so?” Mitch asks softly .

“Definitely,” Scott tells him. “It’s impossible for you to look bad.” 

In the mirror, Scott can see Mitch roll his eyes. “Um, need I remind you of my hair, circa freshman year?” 

“Hey, my head was a bush too,” Scott says with a laugh. “You still looked good though.”

“You’re joking,” Mitch says and when Scott just shrugs he looks at him through the bathroom mirror and says, “You didn’t possibly think I was attractive back then, did you?” 

Scott’s face is red and he puts all his efforts into draining the color from his face as he continues to coat the dye through Mitch’s hair. “Purple is going to be a good look for you,” is all he says and Mitch just smirks because he has his answer. 

About half an hour later, they’re finally finished with Mitch’s hair. Scott uses his new Polaroid camera to take a picture of his grape-haired friend, and as he’s waving the photo to help it develop faster, they can hear the front door opening downstairs. Scott smiles, giddy at the thought of Mr. or Mrs. Grassi seeing their son right now. “That must be your parents!” 

Mitch’s smile fades almost as soon as the words leave Scott’s lips, and his face pales; he looks white as a sheet. Scott stares at him long and hard for a moment, softly saying, “Mitchy… baby, what’s wrong?”

“I - I can’t do this,” he stutters. “I can’t - I can’t dye my hair!”

“Uh, it’s a little too late for that,” Scott tries to tell him but Mitch rushes past him and shuts the bathroom door, sliding the lock into place. 

“They’re going to kill me - my dad is going to kill me!” Mitch whispers, his eyes wide with terror. The fear in his voice fills every inch of the bathroom and Scott knows exactly what’s going on; there’s always that moment where you feel as though you can defy your parents, do something to piss them off or stand your ground against them. And you think that you’re fearless, you think that you don’t care about how they’re going to react. But you know that you do, and you know that you are nowhere near brave enough to face the reality of the situation. You know that you’re nowhere near brave enough to face your parents. 

“I - I have to dye it back,” Mitch says, breathless. “We need to go to the store and get hair dye and fix this!” 

“Okay, okay,” Scott says, his mind reeling as he tries to come up with a fast solution to save Mitch. “Uh - okay, we’ll go out your bedroom window,” _wouldn’t be the first time,_ he thinks to himself. “I’ll go to the drugstore and you’ll go to my house and we’ll fix this.”

They managed to successfully sneak out of the house without Mitch’s parents knowing they were here - with help from Mitch’s bedroom window - and Scott hauls ass to the closest convenience store, where he spends a very long time trying to find the shade of brunet that matched Mitch’s hair before he dyed it. He manages to find a good enough color and then quickly goes to his house, where Mitch is waiting for him. 

They remove the purple from his hair, and Mitch frowns and pouts the entire time. Scott tries to offer a comforting word while they wait for the dye to set, but there’s no cheering him up. And even though the stench of the hair dye makes Scott’s head spin, he still pulls Mitch into his lap and holds him while he mopes. He comforts him, neither of them saying a word, until Scott’s timer goes off and they rinse the dye out of his hair. And just as soon as Mitch’s hair was purple, it’s back to brown. 

The regret is evident in his eyes as Mitch lays on Scott’s bed after his hair dries, upset with himself for chickening out of his moment of rebellion, upset that his parents scare him so much that he can’t do something that truly made him happy. Scott wraps his arms around him and holds him while they both mourn the loss of ‘Grape Grassi’ - as Scott called it; Mitch hated the name - and then, in an effort to cheer him up, Scott gives him a blowjob.

So it turns out the afternoon wasn’t a _complete_ loss. 

* * *

After the letdown that was dying his hair, Mitch comes up with a new plan to assert their rebellion: matching tattoos. 

Initially, Scott is hesitant - he reminds Mitch about him un-dying his hair, and he reminds him that they can’t undo a tattoo - but Mitch is persistent and it isn’t until he tells Scott how pissed off it’ll make his dad that he’s sold. After all, Scott’s favorite thing is pissing off his dad. 

They each get a tiny skull on their fingers - “till death do us part” the tattoo artist had said when they picked out the design, and they both knew it was perfect. It takes less than half an hour for the both of them to get their tattoos, and they’re both giddy and giggling on the way home. Mitch keeps squealing about how badass their tattoos look and Scott is so riled up from the whole afternoon, they he has to pull the car over just to kiss Mitch hard on the mouth before dropping him off. “Till death do us part,” he whispers to him and Mitch’s face is a beautiful shade of red. He kisses Scott one more time before getting out of the jag, and Scott rides his euphoria all the way home. Everything, for once, is just so _perfect_. 

He didn’t know it at the time, but it was the calm before the storm.

Hours later, Scott slams the door of his dad’s jaguar shut so hard he swears he feels the vibrations from the impact throughout the car. He’s just so _furious_ \- he can’t remember a time when he was so angry at his dad. His hands are shaking so badly he can hardly turn the steering wheel to back out of his driveway, and tears are burning at his eyes he suspects he ran at least two red lights on his way to Mitch’s house. 

He doesn't turn the engine off, doesn't get out of the car, and he presses on the horn, tooting it twice. Mitch didn't know he was going to stop by tonight but he'll know that it's Scott. He always does. 

Seconds later, Mitch is exiting his house and illuminated by the Grassi's porch light, Scott can that he's wearing his letterman jacket. His throat feels right when he dress him and he has to swallow down the urge to cry before Mitch gets in the car. 

He's barely buckled in before Scott is peeling out, driving way faster than he should be but he can't help it. He's just so angry, so infuriated. He grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles go white. 

“Scotty?” Mitch says softly. “Baby, are you okay?”

Scott doesn't say anything, he can't yet. If he does, he'll cry and that's the last thing he wants to do. His dad isn't worth his tears. 

“Let's park somewhere,” Mitch suggests after a few moments of silence. Scott doesn’t reply, but he agrees; he doesn’t know how fast he’s driving but he knows he’s going over the speed limit, and the last thing he needs tonight is a ticket. He just needs to cool down, he needs to talk to Mitch. He needs to smoke, he needs to drink, he needs to fuck. He needs _something_. 

He finds some abandoned parking lot of a store that had gone out of business, and turns the car off. He doesn’t relax, his body is still rigid, gripping the steering wheel and glaring at it. He can still feel the anger coursing through his veins. Mitch doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t ask him to talk about what’s bothering him. Instead, he rolls Scott a joint and lights it for him, handing it off to him and Scott takes a hit without hesitation. He’s never smoked in his dad’s car before - he knows that the smell would seep into the seats and it would never leave, and his dad would surely find out what he did. But now, after tonight, he doesn’t give a damn. To hell with his dad’s precious car that he loves more than his own son. Scott hopes he’ll never get the smell out. 

Scott smokes until he starts to feel hazy, until he can feel the anger inside of him slowly beginning to melt away, until his mind begins to clear. Neither he nor Mitch speak while they smoke, but Mitch breaks the silence by softly asking, “What did he do now?” 

Of course Mitch knew this was about Mr. Hoying; it always is. “He keeps trying to set me up with girls,” Scott says softly. He grinds out the end of his joint against the bottom of his shoe. Neither of them mention the ashes falling to the floor of the jag. 

Mitch sighs. “I’m sorry, baby.” He pauses, then starts to say, “He’ll back off eventually, he just -”

And Scott interrupts, his voice hollow as he whispers, “He will never back off. He isn’t going to back off until I marry a pretty girl and get over my little fag phase.” Silence follows once again, and saying the words out loud - repeating the words his father said to him barely an hour ago - makes Scott’s throat close up and his eyes burn and his chest ache. 

“Oh my god, Scott,” Mitch whispers. “Did he - he actually _said_ that to you?” Scott doesn’t reply, he doesn’t have to, Mitch already knows the answer. “Sweetheart,” Mitch says softly. “Scott, look at me.” Scott shakes his head and Mitch whispers, “Scott, _please_. Please don’t shut me out like this.”

Scott sighs. “It’s just not fair to you,” he says softly. He still doesn’t look at Mitch. “I have to deal with all of their shitty rules, and you deserve so much better.”

“What are you talking about, baby?” Mitch asks. “I’m not going anywhere, nothing your dad says is going to get rid of me.”

Scott closes his eyes, trying to compose himself, and he whispers, “I don’t want to go to prom with anyone else but you.” His voice cracks a little and he immediately begin to wipe his eyes, even though he doesn’t feel any tears falling. Yet. 

“If I can’t go to prom with you, then I’m not going at all,” Mitch whispers. 

Scott finally looks at him, his eyes wide and shiny with tears, and he whispers, “Really?”

“Of course,” Mitch replies. “There’s nobody I want to go with other than you, Scotty.” 

Scott sighs, because he hates the idea of Mitch not going to prom; he knows how much he’s been looking forward to this, he’s been talking about the dress he’s going to wear since sophomore year. Prom is much more important to Mitch than it is Scott, and he hates thinking about him missing something that matters so much to him because of _him_. All he wants is for Mitch to be happy. 

Mitch interrupts his thoughts when he crawls into Scott’s lap and right away, because he can’t help himself, Scott wraps his arms around him and hugs him tightly. He presses his face against Mitch’s neck, the fabric of his letterman jacket brushing against his nose. It’s thick with the scent of menthol cigarettes and leftover remnants of Scott’s cologne. He sniffles. “My dad wants me to take my jacket back from you,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “He said… he said that a cheerleader or someone else - a _girl_ \- should be wearing it. Not you.” 

Scott can feel Mitch hesitate for a moment, and then he pulls away from Scott, breaking their hug, and he starts to take Scott’s letterman off. “Mitchy - baby, no,” he starts to say, feeling his face crumble. He shouldn’t have said anything at all, especially not about that. He _wants_ Mitch to wear his jacket, he doesn’t want anyone else wearing his jacket but Mitch. But now he opened his big mouth and Mitch is probably going to think that Scott wants what his dad wants, and - 

Mitch Grassi, however, is full of surprises and Scott should not have forgotten that. 

He takes off the t-shirt he was wearing underneath the jacket, and then puts the jacket back on, leaving it open so Scott can see his bare chest. Scott can tell he had gotten waxed recently; he looks so soft and smooth, and Scott’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch him. He can’t help but to gape at Mitch. His jacket is huge on him and he looks so small, especially when he isn’t wearing anything underneath, and he looks. So damn good. His slender body and tan skin… he looks good enough to eat, and suddenly, Scott is starving. 

“Tell your dad,” he says, his voice soft, a small smile tugging at his lips. His cheeks are flushed red. “That no girl is going to look as good as this in your jacket.”

Scott’s lips part in a soft gasp, and his mouth hangs open, breathless. He’s at a loss for words, unable to take his eyes off of Mitch but he doesn’t know where to look; he wants to stare at his bare chest, his tummy, his neck, his collarbones. He wants to take all of him in as slowly as he can, so he can savor this moment in his mind for as long as possible. 

Once he snaps out of the trance Mitch had pulled him under, he presses his mouth to Mitch’s chest and he sucks a kiss right above his nipple. Mitch inhales a sharp breath, and Scott sucks a little harder. His mouth travels up his chest, to his collarbones and neck, leaving a trail of love bites along the way. Mitch whimpers softly, then moans when Scott keeps going. He tangles his fingers in the blond’s hair, pulling slightly when Scott continues to tease him. Mitch pulls him up by his hair and kisses him long and hard on the mouth. Scott bites Mitch’s bottom lip, and Mitch whimpers into his mouth. There’s still an ample amount of space between them, and when Mitch starts to stir with the intention of climbing over the gearshift and into Scott’s lap, Scott pulls away from him.

“Wanna see what I have?” Scott asks, smirking a little when Mitch whines as they stop kissing. Both of their lips are swollen and Mitch’s chest is covered in hickeys, but he pouts like a small child being told they can’t have dessert before dinner. 

Scott smiles, reaching over to open the glove box in front of the passenger’s seat when Mitch climbs out of his lap and sits in the passenger’s seat once again, and as it pops open, he takes out a polaroid camera. It’s vintage, not like the blue Instax cameras that are popular right now, but large and sort of triangular shaped and very retro. “How very hipster of you,” Mitch comments, clearly uninterested in Scott’s camera - especially considering he just _had_ to show him when they were already in the middle of something else. 

Scott brings the camera up to his face, looking through the viewfinder. He has a clear view of Mitch, his letterman jacket hanging off of one of his shoulders and a visible hickey right below his clavicle bright and red. His face is flushed and his hair is tousled, and he looks so damn _good_ , and Scott softly says, “Smile,” and he takes a picture of him. 

Mitch barely blinks before the camera flash goes off, and as the picture develops, he whines, “Scotty!” 

“I can’t help it; you look amazing right now,” Scott tells him, removing the picture from the camera and placing it on the dashboard to develop. “I could spend the rest of my life taking pictures of you,” he adds, blushing faintly but he means it. Mitch is art, a painting that breathes. And Scott has never seen anything more beautiful. 

“Yeah?” Mitch asks, clearly flattered but still a bit flustered and shy. He looks down, bashful, and Scott snaps another picture of him. “Stop!” he whines, but he can’t fight the smile trying to work its way across his face. 

They make their way to the backseat, Mitch first then Scott follows - not that Mitch gives him much of a choice, because he grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him down, kissing him hard on the mouth. Scott nearly drops his camera and he takes an accidental picture when Mitch kisses him, the two of them giggling when the flash goes off. Mitch persuades Scott into putting the camera down long enough for him to undress him while Mitch lays scantily clad across the backseat. Once his jeans and underwear are in a more appropriate place - on the floor - Mitch rests his legs on either side of Scott, his bare thighs pressing against the blond. The only thing he’s wearing is Scott’s letterman jacket.

“You look perfect, baby,” Scott groans softly, then presses his mouth against his stomach, the skin completely free of hair courtesy the waxing he had gotten earlier in the day but the area is tender and he gasps softly. 

“Do you want to?” Scott asks him softly, looking up at Mitch from between his legs and Mitch moans at the sight. 

He nods his head and whispers, “I want you.” Scott smiles, kissing his stomach again, mouthing at his skin just to make Mitch squirm, and he whines, “ _Scott_ ,” so the blond can get the hint. Scott fumbles through his backpack in search for condoms and lube, and Mitch tugs on Scott’s shirt and jeans until he’s in nothing but his underwear. 

Mitch lies on his back, watching as Scott squirts the lube on his first two fingers and he shivers hard when Scott gently presses his index finger inside of him. A broken moan escapes his lips almost instantly and Scott gently shushes him as he eases in his second finger. “Just relax, baby,” Scott murmurs to him as he slowly preps him, tenderly scissoring his fingers. He whispers sweetly to Mitch while he does this, telling him how beautiful he is, how beautiful he looks like this. Mitch cries out, throwing his head back in ecstasy, and he moans Scott’s name loudly. 

Scott shushes him with another kiss, gently pulling his fingers out as Mitch puts the condom on him. Scott uses his now free hand, the other holding Mitch’s hip tightly so he can’t squirm around too much, and he coats the condom with lube. “Are you ready, baby?” he asks. 

Mitch moans again, nodding frantically, and Scott teases the head of his penis against Mitch, smirking the way the brunet practically sobs. Mitch is so hard, and he’s so desperate for it, Scott can tell from how he keeps whining and pulling on Scott, begging him to fuck him. And Scott can only tease him for so long before he gives him what they both need; he presses in deep and Mitch cries out, groaning Scott’s name, practically chanting it as Scott thrusts.

“I want you so _bad_ ,” Mitch moans, his thighs tightening around Scott’s hips.

“You have me baby,” Scott grits out through clenched teeth, one of his hands pressed against the window behind Mitch and he hopes that he doesn’t somehow shatter the glass - there’s no way he’d be able to explain that to his dad. “You’re so perfect, baby,” Scott tells him. “I - _fuck_ \- you’re so damn hot, baby, I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“Yours,” Mitch moans. His hands find their way to Scott’s back, desperate for something to hold, and he pulls Scott in as close as he can, his nails scratching down his skin. “Oh, Scotty, _fuck_ ,” Mitch cries out, panting. “Fuck, fuck, _Scott_.”

“I know, baby - shit,” Scott gasps, moaning when he feels Mitch rolling his hips up against his own. He presses his forehead to Mitch’s, both of them sweaty but neither of them caring. Scott can feel Mitch’s thighs shaking. “You’re so perfect, angel,” he murmurs to Mitch. “So perfect. You’re everything.”

“S - Scott, I - I’m -” Mitch stutters, lifting his hips up and pressing them flat against Scott’s. Their stomachs are touching and Scott moans again. 

“Fuck, baby, please. Please, I want to feel you,” he pants. Mitch cries out, pressing his face against Scott’s neck, sobbing his name, and Scott hisses, “ _Shit_ , baby.” He keeps fucking Mitch while he comes, kissing whatever inch of skin his lips can reach. And only a moment later does Scott come, loud and hard, in the same fashion that Mitch had. He holds Mitch close and the brunet kisses his neck through it, and Scott gasps his name as if it’s his last dying breath. 

When they’ve both calmed down, Scott gently pulls out, kissing Mitch and whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” In the aftermath of it all Mitch lays down, absolutely breathless, on the backseat, his chest heaving up and down and eyes fluttering shut with exhaustion. Scott watches him lay there; he watches as his hips twitch slightly every so often, his lips are swollen and hickeys cover his chest. He looks so beautiful, laying there with Scott’s letterman jacket and come splattered on the inside of his thighs. Just so damn beautiful. He can’t stop himself before he picks up his camera and takes a picture of him.

“Scott,” Mitch whines, tiredly, but he makes no efforts to stop Scott.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Scott says softly, his throat sore from what Mitch put his mouth through, but he can’t stop smiling. “But you just look so… _amazing_ right now. I never want to forget how you look.” 

Mitch smirks a little, or he tries to but he just looks like he’s smiling. He brings his hands up, the sleeves of Scott’s jacket covering his hands, and he covers his face, shy and embarrassed. Scott takes another picture of him, whispering, “So beautiful,” as the camera’s flash goes off.

“Maybe next time I can be your model,” Mitch murmurs softly from behind his sleeves. He moves one of his hands aside slightly just to peek at Scott and smile shyly - and Scott, of course, takes another picture. 

“I love you,” Scott tells him, finally putting the camera down and leaning forward to kiss him gently. 

“I love you too,” Mitch says, his cheeks rosy, his smile wide. “I love you,” he whispers again against Scott’s mouth. It takes them both a moment to calm down and gain some energy so they can get dressed and return back to the front seat of the jag. 

As Scott drives him home, Mitch looks through the pictures Scott took of him, blushing furiously the entire time. “I can’t believe you,” he mumbles, but he stays fixated on one of the pictures - the one of him lying on his back, looking at Scott from behind the sleeves of his jacket. The shot captures him mostly from the bellybutton up, much more tame than the rest of the pictures, but it still makes Mitch blush when he looks at it. When Scott stops in front of his driveway, Mitch kisses the picture, what’s left of his nude lipstick leaving a mark, and Scott whispers to him, “You are literally a dream come true, Mitchy.”

Blushing, Mitch gives him one more kiss before he gets out of Scott’s car and goes inside his house. Scott doesn’t drive away until the front door shuts behind him.

* * *

The next few days are quiet compared to the night Scott and Mitch hooked up in Mr. Hoying’s car, and in more ways than one. Scott and Mitch still fool around, but they steer clear of Scott’s dad’s car. And Scott just steers clear of his dad altogether, and for a while, everything is borderline peaceful. 

As usual, Scott should have realized it was the calm before the storm. 

When he comes home after football practice, after dropping Mitch off like he usually does, his dad is waiting for him in the foyer.

“Um,” Scott says slowly, dropping his backpack down on the floor by the stairs. “Hi?”

“We need to talk,” his father says, and then he starts towards the living room, clearly expecting Scott to follow him. He does, mostly because he has no idea what the hell his dad is talking about and he figures he would humor him for a few minutes before he was able to make a break for it. 

“I am going to ask you a question,” Mr. Hoying says after taking his seat in his usual armchair. Scott stands just a few feet away from him. “And you are going to answer me.”

Scott bites his lip, swallow back his usual snarky comment because something about his dad’s tone is making him want to be as cooperative as possible. 

He watches as his dad takes something out of his shirt pocket - something small, but not small enough to fit in his pocket because it is slightly bent, and rectangular, the back of it white. “What in the hell is this?” he asks, his voice low. It sends shivers up Scott’s spine and when his dad passes him what he’s holding, Scott’s heart stops. 

It’s one of the pictures he took of Mitch from the night in his dad’s car. 

Scott is certain that all of the color drains from his face and he can’t even raise his head to look at his dad; he stays, rigid where he is standing, trying to catch his breath. 

“I said,” he father speaks up after a painstakingly long silence, and Scott flinches when he hears his dad’s voice. “What the hell is that? Scott Richard -”

“Where did you find this?” Scott finally says when he hears his full name leave his father’s lips after another silence. His voice wavers slightly but his hands are shaking; he didn’t realize it at first but he can tell when he sees his photograph of Mitch shaking. 

“Nevermind that -”

“No,” Scott snaps, feeling a sudden rush of anger coursing through his veins. “ _Where_ did you find this? Were you snooping in my room? Looking through my stuff?”

Mr. Hoying sighs, clearly exasperated, as if Scott’s privacy is not a concern at all right now. “Your mother was cleaning your room,” he starts, but Scott doesn’t let him finish. 

“Mom was _cleaning_?” Scott asks, disgust dripping from his lips. “We have cleaners for Christ’s sake! She hasn’t cleaned a damn thing in this house since the day I was born!” 

“Scott -”

“She was spying on me, admit it. She was spying on me like he always does!” Scott continues. When his dad doesn’t say anything, Scott clenches his hand, the one not holding the picture, into a fist. “You can’t just look through my shit - my personal, _private_ shit - and then get angry about what you find!” he all but shouts. 

“Watch your tone,” his father warns him, the older man’s face going red. “Now, I asked you a question, what is that, Scott?”

Scott takes a breath, taking a moment to calm himself down before he speaks again, “You have eyes,” he mutters, looking away from his father and down at the picture again. “I think you know exactly what this is.”

His father is silent for a moment. “I thought I told you -”

“It doesn’t matter _what_ to tell me, dad,” Scott groans, unable to fathom how his father just can’t understand he can’t order him to stop being himself. “Just because you don’t like that I have feelings for a boy doesn’t mean those feelings are just going to go away! That’s not how it works!”

“Scott -”

“Just like you can’t help loving mom,” Scott continues. “I can’t help loving Mitch!”

“Now, that’s _enough_!” his dad snaps, getting up to his feet, and Scott stumbles backwards slightly, in fear of his father striking him. 

Scott swallows hard, making sure to stand his ground. “There’s nothing wrong with how I feel,” he says softly. “ _You’re_ the one who’s wrong - you, and mom, and anyone else who thinks there’s something wrong with two boys wanting to be together.”

Mr. Hoying doesn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at Scott with such rage in his eyes that Scott is sure he’s never seen before. Scott tries to read his face, tries to decipher what his next move is going to be, but he can’t. And nothing scares him more. 

“This behavior,” his father finally says. “Cannot go unpunished.”

Scott scoffs and has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “You can’t punish me for my sexuality!” he says. 

“Scott Richard -”

“No, you know what, dad?” Scott interrupts. “All this comes down to is you being a homophobic bigot, and whether you like it or not, you can’t punish me for fucking loving someone!” he doesn’t stick around to see what his dad has to say after that, he just turns and leaves the room, leaving the house altogether and slamming the door behind him as he leaves. 

He gets into his car, but he doesn’t drive away; he doesn’t know where to go. He can’t go to Mitch’s house because he doesn’t want Mitch to know that his dad found a picture of him practically naked - Mitch would die of embarrassment, and then he probably would kill Scott. So instead, he punches the steering wheel and screams until his voice is gone. 

* * *

Scott doesn’t go back inside until late at night, and neither of his parents talk to him when he does. He doesn’t talk to Mitch much either, until Mitch threatens to come over if Scott doesn’t reply to his text, and Scott calls him to tell him that he’s okay and that he just got into a fight with his dad. They stay on the phone, Scott not saying much but Mitch comforting and talking to him until he falls asleep. 

The next day, as soon as he wakes up, Scott gets dressed and grabs his car keys, having no intention on staying home, and as he’s leaving the house his dad says to him, “Be home by six. We’re having company over for dinner.” Something about the way his dad says that lets Scott know that dinner is not an option. 

Scott manages to kill time for the next couple of hours, going to an unofficial football practice and visiting Mitch at work, but not knowing what is happening tonight at this mysterious dinner is giving him so much anxiety, he feels nauseous for hours. Finally, ten minutes before six, Scott is home. He showers quickly and gets dressed in a shirt with an animal logo on it, and when he goes downstairs to meet his parents in the dining room, he is surprised to see Mitch and his parents sitting at the table. 

“What’s going on?” he asks slowly. He makes eye contact with Mitch, who just shrugs, clearly as confused as he is.

“It’s been so long since we had dinner with the Grassi’s,” Mrs. Hoying says, but there’s something about the way she says it that makes Scott feel uncomfortable; as if someone has a hidden agenda tonight. 

Cautiously, Scott takes a seat at the dinner table, across from Mitch, and the six of them quietly - and awkwardly - enjoy wine and salad. No one really says anything for a while, and it isn’t before the table is cleared, before the main course begins, that Scott’s dad clears his throat and Scott swears that his entire life flashes before his eyes - and he doesn’t even know why. 

“Let’s just cut to the chase,” he says, reaching into his blazer pocket and Scott’s eyes going wide, praying that what he thinks is going to happen won’t happen. “The reason I asked you guys to join us for dinner is because I thought you would be interested in knowing that Scott has this in his possession.”

It’s as if everything is moving in slow motion, and Scott watches in horror as his dad puts his Polaroid pictures of Mitch from _that night_ on the table, for Mitch and his parents to see. 

Scott isn’t sure if he want to throw up or strangle his dad - or both. The pictures, thankfully, are tame compared to some of the pictures that Scott had taken that his mother hadn’t found, they’re still pretty bad. It’s obvious that, in the pictures, Mitch isn’t wearing anything except for Scott’s letterman jacket, and that they are in Scott’s dad’s precious car, and Mitch looks positively fucked in these photos. 

As it turns out, his dad did find a way to punish him.

He turns to his mother, who sits silently next to his father and he sputters, “A - are you just going to let him do this? Are you just going to sit there and do _nothing_?”

“Don’t ask so surprised, Scotty,” Mitch says softly, but loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. He looks down at his lap, his cheeks and ears red, and he’s biting his lip hard, and Scott’s heart breaks. His parents don’t say a word, but his mom reaches for the pictures as if she doesn’t really believe that it’s her son in the photographs, and when she looks at him, presumably to say something, Mitch stands up and glares at Scott’s dad. “It’s no surprise she isn’t saying anything, I wouldn’t want to speak if I was unfortunate enough to be married to an asshole like you.” he says it with such grace and eloquence that it feels like a verbal slap in the face, and without another word, Mitch leaves the room. 

Scott, who is not as graceful or eloquent as Mitch, gets up angrily, knocking his chair over in the process but not giving a damn at all, and he slams the front door shut after he goes out after Mitch. “Baby -”

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking?” Mitch shouts at him, black mascara smudged on his cheeks, mixing in with the tears he’s finally letting himself cry. “Why the hell did you think to keep them in your fucking _bedroom_ of all places?”

“I’m sorry,” Scott says, wanting to cry himself. “I wasn’t thinking -”

“Clearly!” Mitch snaps. “Now everyone thinks I’m nothing but a whore, and it’s all your fault!”

Tears start to roll down Scott’s face. “Mitch, please,” he cries. “They went through my room! Through all my belongings and they found them! I shouldn’t have kept them and I’m sorry, but I would _never_ let them do this to you i I had a choice, baby you have to understand that! I would never want to hurt you like this!” he chokes on a sob, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and Mitch covers his face.

“They’re all in there talking about me,” he sobs into his palms. “Talking about how I’m such a dirty, stupid whore.” 

“You aren’t though,” Scott hesitantly reaches out and places his hands on Mitch’s shoulders. When he feels Mitch relax under his touch, he pulls him in and hugs him tight, letting Mitch sob against his chest. “You aren’t a whore, baby, please believe me. I’m so, so sorry this happened, I didn’t think he would - I had no idea he would be so malicious like that.”

Mitch doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just clings to Scott and cries, and Scott holds him in his arms as tight as he can, hoping to protect him now when he couldn’t before. “They don’t matter, baby,” he whispers to him. “They’re all horrible and cruel and we don’t need them.” he squeezes Mitch a little tighter and he whispers, “Just a few more months and we’ll be free baby, and I promise I’ll never let them hurt you again.”

Mitch sobs, his fingers curling around Scott’s shirt. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” he whimpers. “C - can we go somewhere, anywhere else but here? Please?” 

“Of course, baby,” Scott reluctantly breaks their embrace to grab Mitch’s hand and the two of them head over to Scott’s car. And without a second thought, Scott drives away, no idea where he’s going but as long as it’s far, far away from his house. 

* * *

They end up a few towns over and they check into a hotel for the night, Scott putting the room and everything else on the platinum card his dad gave him for emergencies. Together, they hide away from the world, away from anyone who’s ever hurt them or tried to keep them apart. Together, they create a world where it’s only the two of them and no one else even matters. 

After ordering room service that he’s sure neither of them are going to eat, Scott puts the ‘do not disturb’ sign on their door and locks it. After Scott convinces him that a nice, long hot bath will make him feel better, Mitch curls up in a complementary fluffy, white bathrobe on their bed. He pulls his knees up to his chest, his back to Scott as the blond exits the bathroom after his own shower. With a soft sigh, he climbs into bed with Mitch and wraps his arms around him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers after a moment of silence.

“It’s not your fault,” Mitch whispers in reply. He sniffles softly and Scott kisses the back of his neck.

“I should’ve been smarter, I should’ve been more careful,” Scott murmurs, and his voice cracks a little when he whispers, “I should’ve protected you.”

Mitch shifts a little, rolling over in Scott’s arms so he’s facing them. Their noses touch and their damp hair clings to their foreheads, but Mitch cuddles up to him as close as he can get. “It’s not your fault,” he repeats softly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you but I was overwhelmed and upset. But I know you would never do something to hurt me, Scotty. I know how much you love me.” he manages to snake his hand in between the two of them and brings it up to cup Scott’s face and he whispers, “And I love you too.”

Scott blinks back tears and Mitch kisses him sweetly. “No matter what,” he murmurs against his lips. “You and I will always have each other. It’s you and me against the world.” And Scott just nods, he can’t speak because if he does he’ll cry, and they spend the rest of the night like that, just laying in each other’s arms. 

* * *

Things go from bad to worse, not because of Scott’s dad grounding him for practically running away and spending obscene amounts of money in one night or because Mitch’s parents can’t even look him in the eye after seeing those pictures of him. But because Mitch and Scott don’t feel like _Mitch and Scott_ anymore. And nothing is worse in Scott’s mind. 

If it weren’t for school, Scott is sure that he and Mitch wouldn’t even see each other for a while and he doesn’t know why. He knows Mitch doesn’t blame him for the incident at dinner, but Mitch still can’t seem to look him in the eye. And they still talk but it’s all so stiff and awkward, like there’s an elephant in the room everywhere they go. It isn’t until they have to study for finals that Scott and Mitch find themselves in the same room and having a conversation like the way things used to be. 

“I don’t understand how we’re expected to memorize all the material in a single unit,” Scott huffs, frustrated. Textbooks and notebooks are sprawled out all over Mitch’s dining room table and every ten minutes, the two of them contemplating taking a wine break. 

“We don’t have to,” Mitch murmurs, looking from one textbook to another. “It’s only the last two chapters.”

“No it’s not,” Scott tells him. “We have to study the whole unit - chapters seven through nine.”

“No,” Mitch shakes his head. “It’s _only_ chapters nine and ten.”

“Are you sure?” Scott asks, and he looks a little bit like he’s about to break down and cry. A side effect of studying for finals. 

Mitch sighs. “I - yeah. I think I am.” Scott groans and Mitch rubs his eyes. “Where’s your study guide?” he asks him.

“I think it’s in my bookbag,” Scott mumbles, sifting through his textbook - again - and Mitch wordlessly reaches for his bag. It’s already unzipped and he starts looking through the mess that it Scott’s backpack, picking up every folder and looseleaf piece of paper in an attempt to find their study guide. But what he finds, instead, makes his heart stop. 

It’s a long white envelope with the return address from Duke University - the same college Scott’s dad went to, the same college that his dad wants Scott to go to. Mitch didn’t even know that he applied. 

Glancing up at Scott to make sure he isn’t paying attention, and he isn’t, he’s mumbling something about how chemistry can suck his dick. And Mitch, as quietly as he can, opens the envelope. He doesn’t even pull the letter out fully; as soon as he sees the word _congratulations_ , tears start to sting at his eyes and he throws Scott’s backpack down to the floor. 

Startled, Scott glances up. “What’s up?” he asks, not understanding why Mitch is getting up and shoving his things in his bag, clearly upset. 

“How _could_ you?” he snaps, his voice cracking. 

“How could I _what_?” Scott asks, a little agitated because he doesn’t know why Mitch is so angry at him but still quiet and patient at the same time. He gets up and grabs Mitch’s wrists, saying, “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

Mitch’s chest is heaving, his eyes filled with tears and he desperately tries to keep them from falling. “Y - you - you - _Duke_!” is all he can choke out.

“Who the hell is Duke?” Scott asks. 

“No, you idiot!” Mitch sobs, wrenching his hands away from Scott so he can wipe his eyes. “Duke University!” Scott doesn’t say anything, and Mitch glares at him. “When were you planning on telling me that you applied?” 

“I -” Scott stutters. “Sweetheart, it’s not what you think -” 

“You’re leaving me!” Mitch says, and it’s like a dam breaking because he starts crying, actually properly crying, and he can’t stop. His greatest fear is losing Scott and it feels as though that fear is coming true. “You’re going to go to your dad’s university and join the same stupid fraternity as he did -”

“I am _not_ my dad,” Scott interrupts. “Let’s get one thing straight, I am not my father.”

“So sneaking around and lying and hurting me isn’t like Rick?” Mitch asks.

“I wasn’t sneaking around or lying!” Scott insists.

“You told me you weren’t even going to apply!” Mitch shoots back.

Scott presses his palms to his eyes, taking a deep breath to try and calm down. The worst part is, Mitch is right - he did say that he wasn’t going to apply to Duke, his dad’s alma mater, because he knew that he couldn’t even be paid to go there. And if Mitch is right about that, he could be right about everything else - what if Scott is going to become his father? 

“I know what I told you,” Scott starts to explain, speaking slowly and struggling not to get too emotional, which is hard to do considering Mitch is sobbing and it’s all his fault. “But you know how my parents are, baby, they wouldn’t get off my back and I finally sent in the application to get them to shut the fuck up. I didn’t even open it - you did. I was going to throw it out and just tell them I didn’t get in.”

“But you did,” Mitch sniffles. “That school has, like, a ten percent acceptance rate and you got in.”

“And I don’t care,” Scott tells him. He reaches for his hands again, lacing their fingers together and giving Mitch a small squeeze. “You have to believe me, I don’t care about that school and I’m not going to go there.” 

Mitch sniffles again, whimpering softly, “You’re so briliant Scotty. You’re so smart - you’re the total package. Why wouldn’t you want to go to an amazing school? You deserve to go to one.” 

Scott sighs, closing his eyes, and he whispers, “Mitchy…”

“You _should_ go to Duke,” Mitch continues. “I’m just being selfish and I want to keep you all to myself. I -” his voice cracks again and he pulls his hands back to wipe his eyes. He whispers, “I don’t want to lose you.”

Scott pulls Mitch into a hug, holding him tightly and he whispers to him, “You will _never_ lose me Mitch, I promise you that. _Never_.” Mitch sobs against his chest, his hands pulling at the fabric of his shirt, and Scott hides his face in Mitch’s hair. He never wanted this; all he wanted was for his dad to shut up and get off his back for five minutes. He never wanted to hurt Mitch like this, never wanted him to think that he was going to leave him. But as much as he doesn’t want to leave Mitch, he can’t admit that his friend has a point; Duke is a wonderful school with a low acceptance rate, and Scott got in. 

He’s starting to realize that he has a lot to think about now. 

* * *

The rest of the year, miraculously, goes by without incident. Scott and Mitch cling to each other more than ever, mostly Mitch because the days are leading up to Scott’s going away party where he’ll be telling everyone what college he’s going to. He hasn’t even told Mitch where he wants to go and nothing has given him more anxiety. His gut instinct is telling him that Scott chose Duke - he has to, it’s a brilliant school and Scott is a brilliant person. He deserves the best. 

Scott’s party comes before Mitch is ready for it to, and he spends nearly the entire afternoon awkwardly mingling around Scott’s backyard, despite how much his expensive boots are begging him to stop walking on wet grass. 

Finally, Scott’s dad clinks his fork against his glass - Mitch rolls his eyes, knowing full well that Mr. Hoying can see him - and he makes a short speech about how proud he is of Scott and he knows that no matter what university Scott chooses, he knows it’ll be the right choice. Mitch rolls his eyes again, but there’s a sinking feeling at the bottom of his stomach that makes him want to throw up. 

Awkwardly, Scott clears his throat and he starts talking to everyone, naming most of the universities that had accepted him, but he knew that there was only one school right for him. Mitch closes his eyes, bracing himself for the worst, but what Scott says next, he never could have anticipated. 

He says the same college Mitch is going to. 

Mitch has never had a heart attack before, but he’s pretty sure this is what one feels like. His eyes snap open and his mouth hangs agape, trying to catch his breath. And Scott is smiling wider than he’s ever seen him smile before. He says something about how he’ll be following his dream of studying acting and theater arts, and when he says that he’ll be going to school with “soon to be the country’s best fashion designer” Mitch starts to cry. 

His father looks pissed and his mother looks faint, but Scott doesn’t give either of them a second glance. Instead, he walks right up to Mitch and in front of his parents, God, and everyone to see, he kisses him. Mitch pushes himself up on his toes and cups Scott’s face in his hands, kissing him with everything he got. Tears are rolling down his cheeks but he’s smiling from ear to ear. “I told you,” Scott murmurs to him. “You’re never going to lose me.”

Mitch chokes on a sob and he says, “Me and you against the world.”

“Just like it always should be,” Scott agrees. Just like it always will be.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr!! kirstinstaylors


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